


Runnin’ out of foolin’

by dishonestdreams



Series: Scribblers Challenge [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Established Relationship, Introspection, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-28 07:26:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16236998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dishonestdreams/pseuds/dishonestdreams
Summary: Natasha's soldiers are...troublesome





	Runnin’ out of foolin’

**Author's Note:**

> First installment in a monthly writing challenge where pushkin666, Mistress Kat and I try to push our boundaries a little. This month's goals were a ficlet of at least 750 words written from a female POV inspired by Aretha Franklin's _Respect_. 
> 
> Quick, dirty (not like that), and unbetad. I regret nothing (other than trying to write from Natasha's point of view, because holy crap, that was hard!)

Natasha leans one hip against the doorjamb and takes a long, slow sip from her rapidly cooling coffee. The bitterness of the lukewarm liquid does not bother her. Natasha has made do with much worse and, for now at least, she is distracted. Contemplative.

The view in front of her is worth contemplating. Her own bed, the familiarity of her sheets, but filled with a tangle of limbs that are decidedly not hers, although she would not go so far as to say they are unwelcome. Barnes is sprawled out on his back, a perfect picture of relaxation that does not fool Natasha for a second. Rogers is on his side, facing into the bed and his hand is slung carelessly across Barnes’ chest leaving his fingertips pressed against his heart.

It’s a very pleasing sight to come back to and yet Natasha makes no move to join them. Not yet. She takes another sip of the coffee instead.

Her soldiers are...troublesome.

Not in a conventional sense; Natasha does not hold with foolish notions of romance. Even if she did, Rogers ( _Steve_ , she must remember to call him Steve even in the privacy of her own thoughts) still carries enough of his former life to be the consummate gentlemen to the women he values and Barnes (who will never be Bucky for her, but should always be James) has regained enough of his character to be charming without effort if he simply lets himself.

Natasha can fulfil those roles; she can present something as important as Steve believes her to be and she can provide more than enough distraction to let James forget himself. Managing their relationship takes little effort, and for what it does cost her, the rewards are more than sufficient. Exposure to the serum has given them both _ample_ stamina and Natasha...well, Natasha understands men and their desires. This is not a boast. Pride is for children and for those born to lives so sheltered that ego is a thing deemed worthy of protection and Natasha is neither. She is merely confident in her own capabilities and knowledgeable from her experiences and she is not above enjoying the benefits she can reap from the same.

Natasha is a pragmatist. Explosively good sex is a benefit which should _always_ be enjoyed.

But this is not how her soldiers are troublesome.

She had wondered, when this _thing_ had started between them, whether she was filling a space once occupied and stepping into shoes which had been empty for seventy years. Not that it matters; Natasha is no Peggy Carter but she can play that role as easily as any other if she needs to. It does not worry her in the way that she thinks it might worry others, although she does wonder sometimes what James sees when he looks at her from behind a closed expression, whether Steve looks and finds her wanting.

(There had been a movie, once, flicking between channels late one sleepless night when she and James had long since slipped from their bed, leaving Steve to his dreams. She had lingered for a few moments, watching the interplay between a demure Carter and a heroic Rogers who bore little resemblance to the man she knew. James had broken the silence with a quiet _they weren’t like that_ and Natasha had simply moved to the next programme. She hadn’t asked him to elaborate. He hadn’t offered).

She doesn’t try to be Carter, and they have not asked anything like that of her yet. Natasha has seen no yearning glances, or the downturned face of a man disappointed, and while she thinks James might be able to hide that from her in the short term at least, she is equally certain that Steve could not. Subterfuge is not in his nature in the same way that it is in theirs. Natasha sees no merit then in concerning herself with things that aren’t yet a problem. Enough trouble knows how to find her as it is; to borrow from tomorrow is the luxury of a woman who has none.

So, this is also not how her soldiers are troublesome.

Natasha knows her skills; she knows that she can be whatever these soldiers need her to be and she has confidence in her abilities, but the fact that she has never mis-stepped gives her pause. Even in her most successful operations there have always been moments of miscalculation, instances where the wrong lilt in her voice, the wrong turn of phrase or twist of hip have risked everything and she has needed to think fast and act faster.

Not with them. With them, nothing she says seems to break the easy flow of conversation and nothing she does needs to be coaxed into position between them. No matter how many months they have spent together, there never seems to be a space she neglected to fill, nor one she has to shoulder her way into. She has seen Steve’s eyes flare in response to her wants and heard James’ breath quicken for her needs. They never fail to listen to her ideas with rapt attention and she’s watched them adjust their plans to accommodate her recommendations without argument. Everything fits like a glove, as though the space between them is perfectly suited to her. She does not have to work to keep her place with them and _that_ is unusual.

Natasha is good, but she’s not that good. No-one is _that_ good. It is...troublesome.

“’Tasha?” Rogers’ ( _Steve’s_ ) tone is questioning, even though there’s a sleep burr still lingering on the consonants of her name and, concentration broken, Natasha glances back toward the bed. Steve is blinking at her, slow heavy movements that catalogue clearly how recently he has woken. James is awake as well, watching her with a gaze that’s too clear and too steady for Natasha to believe he was also just sleeping. She narrows her eyes at him and is rewarded with a brief quirk of his lips.

“Come to bed,” he says, and Natasha was right. There’s no sleep clinging to his words and she wonders, briefly, how long he has been awake, watching quietly in the dark. She wonders how much he has seen.

James usually sees her more clearly than Steve, she thinks. She suspects that should concern her more than it does.

“’Tasha,” Steve says again. It’s less of a question this time and more of an invitation, gravelled and low and promising an entirely different kind of trouble to that she has been preoccupied with since her return (or perhaps not, but Natasha puts that thought aside for later consideration). She steps forward to set her coffee mug down on the closest available surface because why would she not? However troublesome her soldiers might be, only a fool would pass on what Steve is so clearly offering and Natasha is not one to squander such opportunities when they present themselves. 

There will be plenty of time for contemplation later. _Now_ is a time for action. 

“Hello boys,” she says.


End file.
